In a few minutes time it'll be December 18, and then there's only minutes difference between that and the shortest day. We've got this far, the rest will surely happen, this year, as every year, picking up the pieces of our battered psyche. It's over. We will make it, again.

To Richard, Scott, Ian, Ali n Dolly, Kerry, Ted, but most notably Alison my supervisor, a Lady of the highest standing. And she, of all, will never ever read this.

The depression boards are picking up too, already, as we globally sense the turning point so close. The earth hurtling through frozen black space at over 16,000 miles a second (I think, but who cares), fast approaching the edge, that single glorious moment at the orbit's extremity when the subtle strings of gravity start to rein back in.

Free soon to live for nearly a year - to laugh and love and maybe who knows what. Oh, and to those who couldn't or wouldn't help, well - I hold no wicked brief. There's an expression my late mother used to use - fairweather friends. And the weather will in time be fair again.

Beyond belief. It's nearly over.
magnificat

Sicut erit in principio, et nunc, et semper, et in saecula saeculorum.